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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27926053">Remember that night?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersoldier1989/pseuds/wintersoldier1989'>wintersoldier1989</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Actor RPF, Evanstan - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:47:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27926053</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersoldier1989/pseuds/wintersoldier1989</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sitting on his balcony Sebastian gets a little philosophical.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chris Evans &amp; Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans/Sebastian Stan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Remember that night?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Check out the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-jNBwX2OTk">song</a> that inspired this ficlet. It’s a little angsty so be forewarned, but I consider it to be a happy ending in a ‘choose-your-own-adventure’ kind of way.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s late.</p>
<p>Sebastian’s just gotten home from a premiere party that his publicist had insisted he attend. He’s tired and should probably go to bed, considering he has an early morning. But with a couple of beers in him, he decides to sit out on his balcony and just look out at the city. </p>
<p>Lights shine in the dark sky and the cool breeze nips at his skin. Sebastian zips up his favourite blue bomber jacket, the scent of perfume of the girl who had been hanging off of him all night still lingers on the fabric. She’d been more than willing to come home with him. And to be honest, he probably should have let her. It had been almost six months since he’d fucked anyone but his own hand, but each time he got close to going through with it, he'd remember the last person who touched him intimately. And then it was always game over. </p>
<p>Sebastian inhales the crisp night air, wishing he had a cigarette. Though regretfully, he’d quit that habit years ago. Instead his fingers tap methodically against the back of his phone as it rests on his thigh. He <em>could</em> still technically text the blonde back. Invite her over and maybe, just maybe he could be rid of all this nervous energy. </p>
<p>You know what they say about fate? </p>
<p>How a stranger’s split coffee leads to 50 years of wedded bliss or the stories of people missing their flight only to later find out it had crashed into the Twin Towers on TV? </p>
<p>Sebastian has always put some stock into it. Not a religious belief by any means, but serious enough that he often finds himself looking for a deeper meaning. Maybe it’s silly, an excuse to ease the sting of a role he’d missed out on. But for some reason he likes to believe that it’s the universe speaking to him; telling him to have a little patience because something even better is coming along. </p>
<p>So when his phone buzzes with his thumb still hovering over the send button to the blonde’s unfamiliar number, and a notification appears at the top of his screen with an incoming text he doesn’t expect in a million years; he freezes.</p>
<p>
  <em>Remember that night?</em>
</p>
<p>Three words. </p>
<p>That’s all it takes. Three simple words and a question mark to undo five months of healing. To bring him right back to that moment when his heart had been shattered beyond repair. </p>
<p>Sebastian’s chest tightens and his breathing grows shallow. </p>
<p>
  <em> We went for a drive.</em>
</p>
<p>Of course he remembers that night. </p>
<p>It’s burned into the deepest depths of his subconscious, a memory that often came to him while he slept, always causing him to feel off the next day or two. It had come more often in the beginning, when he’d been struggling with being alone again. But as time went on, the memories came less frequently, as did the hurt; which he’d taken as a sign that his heart was mending. </p>
<p>
  <em>2:30 in the morning. I kissed you, it was pouring. </em>
</p>
<p>Another text appears. Sebastian wants to write back but he’s scared that if he does, it’ll tear open the last remaining stitch and that this time, he won’t be able to put his broken heart back together. The words take him back to his first trip to Massachusetts. The quaint small town that had so little in common with the city he’d grown up. How calm everything was, how easy he could the stars without the city lights competing for attention. </p>
<p>How safe and loved he’d felt, cruising in his boyfriend’s Camaro. A strong arm, draped over his shoulders while the other held the steering wheel. Soft lips brushing his temple as they made their way down rural roads, going nowhere together.</p>
<p>Sebastian clicks into the message. Slowly and carefully rereading each word over and over, wondering what the hell this is supposed to mean. Because as memory serves, the last time they’d spoken, he’d received a very different kind of message. One that had him packing his bags.</p>
<p>It’s hard not to get lost in memories, even ones that hurt. Maybe that’s what was happening. Maybe these messages were just a manifestation of loneliness, because god knew, he could relate. </p>
<p>He dims the screen, taking a moment to focus on his breath. Inhaling and exhaling deeply to stop himself from doing something stupid. He’d sworn he wouldn’t dare shed another tear about this and that’s a promise he’s going to keep.</p>
<p>
  <em>I meant what I said.</em>
</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Sebastian grits. Resolve crumbling with every passing second. Now he really wishes he had that cigarette to keep his fingers busy. </p>
<p>
  <em>What did you say?</em>
</p>
<p>He replies. The words are flying into space before he can stop them. Maybe it’s out of spite, maybe it’s out of desperation for some sort of closure; regardless, he sends them anyway. It’s funny though, he doesn’t even know where they’re going. Somewhere on the other side of the world? Or just up the East Coast to the quaint New England town that he’d stupidly dreamt, he’d one day call home? </p>
<p>He doesn’t dare to breathe once the three little dots appear on his screen. </p>
<p>
  <em>I still mean it, Sebby.</em>
</p>
<p>The nickname slices him open, he’s exposed now. Metaphorically, laying on the operating table with his life in someone else’s hands. The anesthesia bringing along with it dreams of a simpler time. </p>
<p>How they’d laughed as they dashed back to the car, soaking the custom leather seats with their rain-drenched clothes. Bright blue eyes locked on his, a warm palm rising up to cup his chin as Sebastian shivered from the cold in his bones. Though, he hadn’t been cold for long because the breath of the hot kiss that had claimed his mouth had set him on fire. And the words that came after it had warmed his heart even more.</p>
<p>
  <em>I love you.</em>
</p>
<p>Three words.</p>
<p>Is it fate? </p>
<p>Do we ever really know?</p>
<p>That’s the thing about it. It’s only fate if you believe in it. Otherwise it’s just a string of people, places and events that everyone else calls life. </p>
<p>So he decides to take fate into his own hands. Sebastian’s heart squeezes from the moment he  presses the call button until the call goes through because these are words that he needs to say out loud.</p>
<p>Maybe this will be a night they both remember, or maybe it’ll be another one he tries to forget.</p>
<p>But he has to try.</p>
<p>“I still love you too, Chris.” </p>
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